Descent into Darkness
by acelenny
Summary: The road to hell is paved with good intentions and the blood of innocents. Taylor's mother dies when she is just eleven. In the aftermath, her dad falls apart completely and finds his salvation in the group reviled by many and worshiped by some. AU, Alt Power
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

This story is also being posted on Ao3.

Read these notes if you want to know a little bit about the world I will be building this story around, changes have been made from Wildbow's original Parahumans series. If you would prefer to just dive in, skip these notes and enjoy. Please do leave feedback and the longest thing I have written in years are formal university essays. Apologies for the short first chapter, more will hopefully follow. As a side note: I am English. Therefore, while this story is still primarily set in America, English terminology will be used and English pronunciation should be considered when reading this. I did consider doing the research necessary to write this with American English and American terminology but to be perfectly honest, I don't have the energy and I prefer my native tongue. Minor SPOILER ALERT: 1) There is no Scion in this story. As far as I am concerned, Scion was killed by his grief when he lost control in the aftermath of Eden's death. 2) Brockton Bay is a bigger city than it is in cannon and has more capes. 3) More to be added here later as things develop.

 **Sunday 3rd March 2009**

"Taylor! Dinner is almost ready, please come down and set the table!"

Taylor finished her sentence before looking up from her homework, "Coming Mother!" She was careful, as always, not to raise her voice too much. As much as she might want to, shouting at Julianna would not end well for her. In all honesty, it was difficult to justify shouting at her step-mother, even in the privacy of her own mind. The woman was nice enough. She loved her husband, she was a good housewife, and devoted to what she believed in. Yet despite all of that, and in defiance of what she had been taught, Taylor could not help but dislike her.

It was not that she was angry at her for trying to replace her real mother, it was only natural that the new lady of the house should want to fulfil all aspects of her duties. Nor was it that she hated the fact that her Father had moved on. She didn't. She understood that after almost three years, it was only natural for him to want some companionship at home other than his daughter. It wasn't even that she had just come home one day to find her father passionately kissing the woman in the kitchen, having never even mentioned his new romantic interest.

No. What grated above all else, the one thing that really made her blood boil, was having to call her Mother. Annette Hebert was dead. No one could replace her. Taylor had initially tried calling her Julianna and Julie, as her Father did. Unfortunately, her father had put a stop to that in short order. He wanted his new wife to be the mother of his teenaged daughter, and, in his own words, he was not prepared to allow her 'misguided teenage rebelliousness' to 'disrupt family life'. Thus, it had come to pass that Taylor called Julie, 'Mother', or Ma'am. After all, Taylor was a good girl, a good daughter, and it was important for her to obey her father's wishes and support his endeavours. Her teachers had been very, very clear on the subject and had taken a great deal of time and effort to reinforce that particular lesson.

She stood from her chair and took a moment to make sure that everything was in order. Her room was neat. The bed was made, her clothes were demure but attractive, and her shoes were free of dirt. Satisfied, Taylor made her way down the stairs towards the kitchen, enjoying as she did so, the house's general lack of disrepair, and the soft tinkling of classical music emanating from below.

In the kitchen, she found her mother's blond ponytail bouncing up and down as she put the finishing touches to the evening's Sunday roast, complete with an unusually large array of side dishes. Staying as quiet and unobtrusive as possible, Taylor went about collecting the things she needed and placing them on a tray. A short balancing act later and she was arranging knives, forks and spoons neatly next to one another on the table in the next room, accompanied by glasses and jugs filled with water, fruit juice, and (at her mother's prompting) an unopened bottle of wine.

Once everything was ready, she returned to the kitchen, standing just inside the door with her back straight and her hands clasped in front of her.

After a few minutes, a spitting joint of beef was retrieved form the oven and her mother turned to her.

"I'm just about ready here dear, why don't you go and fetch Danny from his study for me?"

She nodded in acquiescence, and made her way through the house, glancing as she did so at the pictures decorating the corridor that bisected the ground floor. Pictures of the docks, of her father's friends, of her new family. Almost nothing dating back more than a few years. At the end of the corridor, she paused outside the thick door leading to the house's office. She forced herself to breath. In. Out. In. Out. When she knocked, she had to make sure to do so hard, or else it would go unheard.

After a moment, the door was opened by a tall, muscular man in a suit. "Ah, Taylor, good evening. Your father and I were just talking about you."

Surprised, she took a moment to respond. A moment too long judging by the slight look of disappointment on his face. She hated that expression. It filled her with self-loathing. It was a reminder of her failings and brought back memories of the time she had spent in Europe over the Summer.

"Oh, good evening sir, I didn't know you were here." She put on her best polite smile for him, "Mother wanted me to tell Father that dinner is ready. Will you be joining us?"

She received a soft smile in return as the man stepped backwards into the room, ushering her a step inside as he did so. To her left, her Father was sat in one of the comfortable armchairs by the window, a small glass of beer in his hand. As expected, he offered no word of greeting despite not having seen her since he left for work in the morning.

"I've just invited James here to dinner, I thought that we should take pity on him while Sarah is away this weekend. We have to make sure he eats at least one decent meal, can't have him falling asleep on business can we now?" His wiry frame shook as he offered the room a gentle chuckle, along with a not so subtle smirk towards his friend who had moved over to the other side of the room to retrieve his own beer.

Taylor hovered at the edge of the room with her hands held neatly behind her back, her head bowed slightly. "No Father. That would be most unfortunate."

He gave her an indulgent look, obviously pleased with her response. She didn't really understand why. It wasn't as though she had said anything remarkable. Her Father stood, drained the last of his beer, made a 'lead on' gesture towards James and gave Taylor a gentle pat of the back before strolling towards the dining room.

With a slight sigh that she did her best to suppress, and a quick sideways glance at the flag on the wall, Taylor followed.


	2. Interlude A

**Author's Note:**

I really would appreciate some feedback for this next bit. I have tried to create an atmosphere of emotion and hopefully I have managed to strike the right notes without being too stiff or overly detailed. I struggle with relating to emotional response in real life so I need to know if I have misjudged anything in order to fix it.

Also, as an aside, I have some idea of where this story is going but I have yet to decide how dark it will become or when the darkness will appear in detail. Down one road lies something very detailed and graphic which while powerful could be unpleasant for some to read while the other is more family friendly but perhaps not what I would call the true version of this story. While this is of course very early in the story and this may not go for more than a few thousand words, if it progresses beyond that any thoughts people might have on the matter would be useful.

 **Chapter Summary:**

The world is not kind to little girls and old men. It cares naught for what is right or wrong. The bad may prosper while the good languish in agony and despair and the world will keep turning just the same.

 **Wednesday 13** **th** **May 2006**

Taylor was not prepared for this. Not even remotely. Then again, most American eleven year olds are not prepared for the sudden, violet death of a parent. Even fewer are prepared for their surviving parent, the one person they should be able to rely on when their illusory, safe little world is collapsing around them, to turn into a chaotic mess. They do not expect that parent to sit slumped in a chair, or storm around the house, raging and lashing out. They don't expect to suddenly have to hide from the smashing of chairs, the lashing of their red faced father's tongue, and the new sensation of being hit.

But, if there is one thing that any child faced with such a turn of events knows, it is that the world, and any deities that exist, does not give a damn about what people are prepared for, nor what is fair and just.

As she knelt by the hole in the ground, watching her mother's coffin disappear under a mound of earth, Taylor reflect on the day, trying to ignore numbness in her head, and the bruises on her arms. She had always imagined funerals as events which took place on rainy days, in quiet graveyards filled with huddled groups of sombrely dressed men and women. It was the sort of thing that she had grown up seeing on television. Reality was almost a disappointment in comparison. It was not quite in the graveyard. She was surrounded by the noises of the city: honking horns, barking dogs, and shouting pedestrians. It was not raining. Instead, it was a very mild but humid day with the sun shrouded by a thin bank of clouds. Underneath her school uniform, she was sweating. It had seemed wrong to wear the uniform to the funeral, a touch disrespectful. Unfortunately, she didn't own anything more formal, and her dad had been in no state to take her out to rent something. Even if he had, despite her youth, she had some inkling of how little money they had to spend at the moment.

Most people had already left by this point. Of the few dozens friends, family, and associates who had attended the funeral, only she, Lacey, Kurt, and two groundskeepers remained by the graveside. Her dad had wandered off. She could see him now, meandering aimlessly through the gravestones, his faced stained with tears and flushed by beer. She knew that Kurt had tried to talk to him, only to be utterly ignored. Danny Hebert had no time for anyone at the moment. Kurt's dismissal had been one of his more mild reactions to being approached in the past four days. When Emma's father had tried to talk to him, to get him to focus on pressing charges against the Asian gangsters who had killed his wife, Danny had shouted at him, thrown a glass at him, and had finally tried to hit him before he fled the house. Had Taylor been watching at the time, instead of lying under her bed with her hands pressed over her ears, she would have been embarrassed by how sloppily the punch was thrown. It wasn't that her dad was a 'tough guy', but she knew that in his younger days, he had been a capable, if casual boxer.

As the last few handfuls of dirt sealed her mother away forever, Taylor ran her dust covered hands through her hair, one of the few things she had left of her mother, and managed to make her way over to Kurt and Lacey. Her eye were watering, eager to release a fresh stream of tears. She found herself embraced by gentle arms which her lifted her off the ground before she could fall over. It wasn't just grief at this point. She hadn't had much to eat in the last day or two, only what Lacey had brought over while her dad was comatose on the sofa.

She knew that she wasn't going home tonight. Instead, she was going to be staying over with Kurt and Lacy until tomorrow. They knew that their friend had been struggling, though Taylor was pretty sure they hadn't noticed her bruises. She had done her best to hide them after all. Why? Because she didn't want her dad to be in trouble. Because, she knew that she should have stayed away from him, even when he hadn't remembered to cook her lunch, or dinner. Because… at some level she blamed herself for her mother's death.

It was stupid of course. But it made sense to the mind of a grieving eleven year old girl devoid of parental support. In her mind, her mother had only been on that street corner because her daughter had pestered her for some sweets, and she had taken it upon herself to pop round to the shop to get her a bar of her favourite milk chocolate. She didn't really understand that Annette Hebert had just been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She didn't know that the roving band of Azn Bad Boys were looking for any excuse to attack a white person as part of their initiations. An adult should have been there to explain these things to her. But most didn't feel that it was their place, and her dad? When he was lucid, he didn't care to. On the one hand it just hadn't really occurred to him. But there was more to it than that, he hated the Asian men for what they had done and, at some level, perhaps not even one he was aware of, he placed some of the blame squarely on Taylor's shoulders. The shoulders of a daughter who just wouldn't stop asking for something sweet to stuff her mouth with.

As she was carried away towards a waiting car, Taylor looked back through blurry eyes to where her father had sunk onto a stone bench. Her eyelids began to droop, days of disrupted sleep, irregular meals and emotional instability overwhelming her. As she drifted into unconsciousness, she saw the vague shapes of burly men with close cropped hair and dark tattoos approaching her father.


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:**

 **No idea what happened to the formatting.**

This is also being posted on Ao3.

Please note, this chapter and probably a fair few of the future chapters will contain language which is indisputably racist. I would just like to make it very clear that this language is used only because of the subject matter in question and does in no way reflect my personal views. I do not give a damn what race someone is, I am gracious enough to hate the rest of humanity equally.

Minor Spoiler:

This chapter marks the beginning of one of the slightly darker aspects of this story and the next chapter will probably see one or more tags added to the list of warnings. I'm hoping the tone is right here because I want it to be serious.

Also, as you may have guessed at this point, this story is not just going to be another action flick with an overpowered Taylor. There will be action, and Taylor's power will be strong (though not in an 'I can walk up to lung bitch slap him into next week on my first night out' type of strong, not by a long shot).

 **Sunday 3rd March 2009 – Hebert family dining room**

As she stood behind her chair, waiting for the adults to settle into their own comfortable seats, Taylor couldn't help but stare at her mother's heavily swollen tummy. She had done her best to ignore it in the kitchen, along with the way the woman struggled to bend down to open the over, and how she waddled rather than walked. She really, really wished that that bump would just disappear, vanish into thin air like a nigger into the night.

Once her father had finished helping his wife into her place and had finally taken his seat at the head of the table, Taylor quietly settled down opposite her mother and their guest. All in all, it was a very peaceful meal. Other than the occasional complement about the food and the odd request for a dish or drink to be passed around the table, everyone devoted themselves to savouring their food.

After a while, there was a pause as they all relaxed dabbed at their mouths with napkins. Having placed her serviette to one side and made sure to arrange her cutlery in an appropriate manner on her plate, Taylor did her best to surreptitiously assess the others at the table. She had seen them all many times before of course and had memorised every detail of their faces. What she was looking for were subtle hint and clues, insights into moods and thoughts.

It wasn't uncommon for Mr Fleischer to visit at weekends, and it shouldn't have been surprising that he had chosen to visit for dinner while his wife and children were away visiting his parents-in-law in Boston. Never the less, she was worried. They had been discussing her and she didn't know why. To her knowledge, she hadn't done anything recently that merited any talking about.

Frustratingly, there were surprisingly few things to glean from the men's clothes or expressions. To her left, her father was casually dressed in a plain white polo shirt, loose trousers, and soft, comfortable shoes. Attached to his breast pocket was the simple silver pin he was seldom seen without. It was hardly the garb of a man who had been dealing with serious matters concerning his occasionally wayward daughter. Moreover, had such a discussion been necessary, it would probably have taken place in a more formal setting, away from home. Overall, he looked relaxed and happy as he gazed adoringly at his wife and enquired about the pudding. As it happened, it was strawberry parfait tonight.

Across from her and to her right, their guest looked only slightly less comfortable as he reclined in his chair, the front legs lifting ever so slightly off the ground. Annette would never have allowed that. His dark grey suit was neatly pressed as always, a golden pin neatly attached to his pin striped tie. He was looking at Taylor, his expression passive and content. Unfortunately, with him, that could mean anything. He might be daydreaming about his next trip to London or thinking about how to punish her the next time she slipped up. It was utterly infuriating, not that she let her frustration show on of course. Instead, the man received a gentle flick of her hair, a practiced smile, and slightly downward turned eyes. The grin that spread across his face in response made her cringe internally. It was masterful really, the way he could influence how she felt. But then again, he had lots of practice.

On the whole, despite a slight feeling of unease in her stomach, Taylor wasn't too concerned about the earlier discussion. She just hoped that the rest of the evening went as well as the first half and didn't drag on for too long. She really did need to return to her homework, there was still the final few paragraphs of an English literature essay to finish. In all likelihood, she would be dismissed sooner rather than later so that the adults could spend time together in private.

"So, Taylor, are you looking forward to becoming a big sister? It's a great responsibility, it will be up to you to help guide and protect you brother or sister., I'm sure your parents will appreciate your help in the first few months, they might actually be able to have a little sleep with you around."

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Bugger. Fuck.

Damn.

This was the one topic that she had wanted to avoid. She could try to lie to him, to do what she expected to do: to tell him that she was overjoyed at the thought of having another child in the family. She stalled for a moment, giving herself an excuse to delay her reply by taking several excessively long sips of orange juice.

She wanted to lie and feed him big fat whopping great fibs. She wanted to be able to tell him what her father wanted to hear, it so nice when he gave her a smile of approval. But she couldn't. It was against the rules to lie to her superiors, whether they were her parents or… other authority figures. The answer to the problem? Improvise, attempt to deflect the question, and answer without really answering.

Polite smile fixed in place, she did her best to sound cheerful, "I'm sure that it will be a very interesting experience sir. I just hope that I'm up to the task of taking care of them properly."

He made a humming noise. Her mother might have been satisfied with her answer, so too might her father if he had had an extra glass of wine. It was a shame therefore that as the saying goes 'life is a bitch, and then you die'. It was clear from the moment her mouth snapped shit that she had stepped straight into the trap like a Jew into a… well, you get the idea. Judging from the frown at the end of the diner table, it was a trap that had been planned in advance, probably inside a certain office, now, the jaws of the trap were closing. There were only a few seconds left before it was shut, with her inside.

As he leaned forward his calloused hands coming to rest in front of him on the edge of the table. Taylor's heart was in her throat. Memories of lessons on family values flashed before her eyes. She resisted the urge to shuffle in her seat to relieve the pain of bruises long since faded.

"I think that James deserves a proper answer, don't you Taylor?"

By this point, Taylor's hands were fisted and white knuckled in her lap, scrunching her pleated skirt up. Her neatly combed hair had fallen forward, and her chin had dropped to her chest. This was it. She was royally screwed. She doubted if an act of god could save her now.

James Fleischer was not family. She could just about get away with attempting to mislead him, occasionally at least. The same could not be done with her father.

Her voice cracked as she spoke, her words were rushed, elocution lessons forgotten in the stress of the moment. "Father, please may I leave the table? I have some homework that needs t– ".

The crockery shook slightly as his hand came down on the table and her mother jumped slightly in surprise, a concerned look directed at her daughter. Taylor was glad she couldn't see it properly through her hair, it made it so much easier to dislike the woman.

"I thought that we had dealt with this problem, girl. Perhaps James and Mrs Marchbanks need to give you some _remedial lessons_ this week. Now, answer the question: are you looking forward to having a sister?" The tension could have cut through diamond. As it was, it just severed a fourteen year old's frayed nerves.

In 99.9% of household, the question would be trivial, a positive answer would welcomed with smiles and praise, the opposite, chalked up to childish jealously and teenage stubbornness. But given Taylor's history, the same could not be for the Hebert household.

Steeling herself, she opened her mouth, failing in her attempts not to shake slightly, "No sir, I am not looking forward to the arrival of the new baby."

At this point, she might as well say everything she had to say on the matter and hope for a slightly more sympathetic response, "I- , I don't want to be replaced. I'm worried that once you have a new baby with Juile, you won't want me anymore. You'll have the perfect family and won't need the, the failure. And… and I don't want _Her_ , to give you a son!"

Silence.

Tears in her mother's eyes.

Well hidden satisfaction with a hint of disappointment in James'.

She didn't even look at her father. She just stared at her lap, watching as the navy-blue fabric darkened with fallen tears.

"Taylor, wait for me in the basement. I will be along shortly."

She slid her chair back in a hurry, hard enough that it fell over and landed with a loud bang on the wooden floor. Then, she fled the room, only a fraction away from actually running. She didn't see the way her father went to comfort his wife. The way he placed a gentle hand over the swollen tummy. That was fine as far as she was concerned. She hurried, down the corridor, into the kitchen, and through the thick, soundproofed door leading to the basement, careful, even in her distress, to close doors gently behind her.

Dessert it seemed, had been delayed indefinitely. A shame really, she was rather partial to strawberries.

 **Additional Author's Notes:**

Some of you may be able to guess what may happen in the next chapter from the ending of this one, especially if you have read the superb 'Mixed Feelings' (also found on Ao3). I am currently up in a quandary about how to portray this subject. Should I go into detail, or just include mentions, descriptions of the aftermath, and allusions in the same way that the aforementioned 'Mixed Feelings' does?

On the one hand, the first option allows me to make the extent of Taylor's suffering clear. On the other hand, I don't want to put too many people off reading this. A third option would be to simply stick warnings and skip suggestions up or to simply include the more... dark, gory and (depending on how things go) sexual, scenes in a separate story with links to them included here. Opinions?

Also, to stick this on space battles, sufficient velocity, and questionable questing, or not to?

Also, feedback would be much appreciated, I need to know if I am hitting the right emotional notes and what have you. Also, does the dialogue feel very stiff and awkward? Re the way Taylor speaks, it is meant to be formal and stiff. It is not meant to sound the way most teenagers do.

Finally, anyone feel like being a beta?


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Summary:**

Sometimes, the passage of time changes people. Sometimes, it takes a single event. Danny Hebert is a very different man to the one who married Taylor's biological mother.

 **10:26 PM, Sunday 3rd March 2009 – Basement Room**

In the end, he made her wait for almost two hours. Enough time to comfort his beloved wife, send his guest on his way home, and most importantly, enough time to let his notoriously violent temper cool down a touch. After all, it wouldn't do for her to miss school tomorrow. That's not to say that she couldn't be in a lot of discomfort whenever she sat down of course.

The basement was a well-lit room, about 15x15 metres and completely soundproof. In the centre sat a table, wood with leather and metal restraints littered around it's surface and legs.

Taylor stood on tired legs next to the table, her back straight, head down, and hands held in front of her. All in all, she was doing her best to be the very picture of the demure, submissive, contrite daughter. She didn't even have to pretend, she just fell naturally into the memorised pose and did her best not to backwards and forward from heel to toe in agitation.

When the door opened at the top of the stairs behind her, it was an effort not to glance around and check how angry he looked. The soft tap tapping of his hard heels on the concrete steps was unnerving in the extreme and she felt her throat close up as snot and tears started to flow once more. After an eternity, he came to a stop behind her, his eye running up and down her figure, assessing her, before settling on the back of her head.

"Shoes." His voice was gruff and soft. It was the sort of voice that children the world over knew meant that their parents had overcome their initial anger. It also meant that they had had time to think about how to discipline their wayward children.

In response. Taylor carefully kicked off her black leather shoes and carried them over to the shelf to her right before resuming her previous position by the table.

"Shirt."

Her plain white, collared shirt followed the shoes. This was one of the worst bits. The undressing. The calm before the storm. Intellectually she knew that there was nothing perverse about it, it was a standard interrogation technique. Strip your subject. Make them feel exposed, vulnerable. At your mercy. Make them remove their clothes and obey you.

"Skirt." This time, as she slowly slid her knee length skirt off, Taylor thought that she could hear a slight growl in his voice. By now, she was only clad in her underwear: knee high white socks, white bra, and white panties.

"How dare you." Now she could definitely hear the growl. The suppressed rage in his words. "How dare you speak about her like that. Have you learnt nothing? All of those lessons, about family. About loyalty, and duty, did you learn nothing from them?"

She was shocked by how level her father was managing to keep his voice. Normally he would be shouting by now.

"I have Sir, really. Its just… I struggle sometimes. And, and with the baby coming, I, I've been so worried about what will happen a-after it comes." She hated herself for how weak she sounded, how afraid. She was afraid. Terrified really. She loved her father. Worshipped him even, but he terrified her. "Pl-please Father, don't send me back to Europe, please. I'm doing my best to be good, and Krieg says that I'm improving in our lessons. I promise I'll go for extra lessons, I'll even ask for them myself."

Europe. It was the ever-present threat that hung overhead like the Sword of Damocles. It had been there since her power had come, but it had always been abstract, intangible. Ever since she had actually been sent there over the summer holidays, it had become very, very real. It had been the ultimate punishment, after dad had finally become tired of her. One complaint from Krieg too many, one homework assignment not done, one too many times talking back to her new mother. In the end, after numerous hints and short conversations, all it had taken was one last phone call from Krieg, her erstwhile master, to tip Danny Hebert over the edge.

Well, maybe she was understating things a bit. It had really been the cumulative effect of lots of little things and a few bigger things, all topped off by her… outburst.

She did not want to go back to Europe. Ever. She wished she could say that she would rather die before she returned, but she couldn't. In reality, if the orders came in, she would go without complaint. She would beg. She would try to negotiate. She would even think about running away. But in the end, she would walk to her doom without resistance. The good little soldier.

"Taylor, we keep doing this. You always say that you'll try hard, that you'll do better. Sometimes you even manage it. But you never quite go far enough. Europe did you so much good. You came back happier. You had more faith in the cause. You had better control over your powers. Everything was better. Recently though, I've seen you slipping. It would break my heart, but if I have to I will move this family to Britain or Germany or wherever if it means doing what's best for you and the cause."

He sounded so sincere. Maybe that was the worst thing. He believed every word, and she couldn't even fault it too much. Yes, they had hurt her. They had spent long hours forcing lessons into her head. She had hated it, fought it for so long. But afterwards, after she had broken and begged them to help her, she had become better. Better in every way. She had even felt happier. She hadn't been herself though. Not really. Taylor Hebert, Annette Hebert's little girl, had died in a small, bare, underground room with manacles around her wrists and ankles, and marks on her skin.

There was a sigh less than a foot form her neck. Close enough that she could feel it on her naked back. She quivered, fighting not to turn around or step away.

"Taylor, I don't want to do it, but I have had enough. Three months. That's how long I'm going to give you to change. By then, the baby will be born and old enough to travel if it has to."

That was the end of their brief conversation. Now came the final act of the evening.

"Hands by your sides."

He reached up and undid her bra. This was another part of the punishment. The bit where he showed her that he was in control. That she was his daughter. His to command. His to do with as he wished. The fact that she was now fourteen and a girl didn't matter one jot.

He didn't bother to place her last few garments neatly on the floor. Instead, they were chucked across the room in the general direction of the others. Her socks quickly joined the bra, Taylor lifting each leg one at a time as ordered. Eventually, she was standing in just her panties.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed. "Bend over." She did so, bending over the narrow portion of the table so that her waist was pressed into the edge while her breasts and everything above hung over the other side. The table was tall enough that even with her greater than normal height, she had to stand on her toes to remain on the ground.

With agonising slowness, her father had her bend her arms at her sides so that they were gripping the far edge of the table, then he secured her wrists to the table with broad leather straps. Her legs remained free. It was her responsibility to make sure that she didn't kick back. Finally, he gripped the waistband of her last undergarment, and it soon joined the others on the floor.

Despite her exposure, Taylor did as her training demanded and kept her legs a few inches more than shoulder width apart. She kept her head facing forward as her father went to the well in front of her and selected a tool from the rack attached to it. He was angry and upset and so it was unsurprising when he chose a narrow but heavy leather belt. Not thin enough that it would cut her easily and keep her home from school. Heavy enough to hurt, and long enough that it could be wrapped around his hand to ensure complete control and precision.

The tears flowed freely, and her breaths came short and fast as he moved to stand behind her again.

"You know the rules girl."

"Yes Father. May, may I ask h-how many?"

His eyes were on her, boring into her flesh. "Until the message sinks in."

Fuck.

The first five struck her bottom, top to bottom. Reddening it.

The next five found her upper and inner thighs.

By the time she had cried out "Twelve! Thank you, Sir!". She was whimpering at the mere anticipation of the blow every time there was a paused as her father drew his arm back.

At forty-five, she was limp in her restraints, the skin from her lower back to halfway down her thighs was purple and she was bleeding in places. Every touch was agony and she was screaming.

When he eventually stopped. She didn't think he was satisfied. He had just run out of energy. She had lost count of the lashes, more than sixty, less than one hundred. Her hair was matted with not and sweat, disarrayed from when she had thrashed around.

After returning his implement to the wall, he spent some time just staring at her. There was silence except for the sound of heavy breathing, soft whimpers, and sniffing.

It must have been late by then, but he left her there while he went upstairs to get a drink. After maybe twenty minutes, he returned with a bucket of water. He released her from the straps and pushed her off the table, causing the skin on her front to scrap painfully on the table's wooden surface. As she lay in a heap on the floor, completely exposed to him, he threw the water over her.

She shrieked as it struck her, it was ice cold.

"Three months Taylor. Three months." That said, he left, locking the basement door behind and turning the lights off from outside, leaving his little girl alone to suffer through the night.


	5. Chapter 5

Hello anyone reading this. This is just a quick note for your information. I'm sorry for the lack of updates and I do not consider this story dead. I have however lost quite a bit of my enthusiasm for it as apparently some people have been led by it to believe that I am a Nazi, a racist and someone who likes the idea of abusing children. These people have unfortunately been rather vocal in telling me their misguided and ill informed opinions of me which has been rather dispiriting.

I am still writing but very slowly, hopefully I will get back into the swing of this story at some point.


End file.
